


Gotham is smog and we are the grit

by RedBirb (CheetahLeopard2)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Endearments, M/M, vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29562057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheetahLeopard2/pseuds/RedBirb
Summary: A collection of JayTim drabbles that each have specific feelings
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	1. "Kiss me, pretty bird."

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Tim cups Jason’s jaw with long, trembling fingers. Jason doesn’t break eye contact, pressing ever so slightly into the touch. Gaze challenging, daring, and a bit nervous all at once.

It’s so easy, for Tim to lean closer over him, careful not to crush the book loose in his hand. For Tim to brace his other hand on the arm of the chair and press his lips gently, oh so gently, to Jason’s temple, eyes falling closed.

Tim pulls back after a second, watches Jason’s eyelashes flutter as his gaze narrows. Hooded eyes hold his in a sultry gaze. Jason brings his free hand up to Tim’s on his jaw, twists it to press a heavy kiss to Tim’s knuckles. Soft lips and warm breath enough to have Tim shudder, his knees weak in Jason’s intensity.

He pulls Tim’s hand to press against his heart, drawing Tim to lean closer, brace further over him.

“Kiss me, pretty bird,” Jason says, rumbles, and Tim can feel his voice rattle through his palm.

He does.


	2. "is this okay?" "more than"

Jason’s still talking when Tim drags his gaze away from the skyline, gesturing animatedly as he rants about the Great Gatsby being more relevant in modern day than it has any right to be.

“- doesn’t even apply to the middle class an’more! There’s not ‘nough financial security, because the smallest thing like a hospital bill puts ya out on y’ur ass ‘nd only the ELITE have enough to wish to fit the Buchanon level of ‘american dream’-”

Tim makes a small noise as Jason starts to wind down in his rant, and Jason takes it as agreement, his deep voice raising in the Gotham smog again as he launches into something about the valley of ashes.

Tim stares, enraptured by the way Jason’s teeth flash with every word, the way his eyes will flicker to Tim’s to make sure he’s still listening. So teal they almost glow, but not the green of violence long past. Every time, Tim meets his gaze, trying to push all his feelings into his stare.

“ _I’ll always listen. I love hearing about your passions_.”

And every time, Jason’s breath stutters slightly on his next word, his right incisor catching the edge of his lip before he carries on, blush tinting his ears and highlighting otherwise invisible freckles across his cheeks.

Tim loves this, meeting up with Jason in the early hours, long after even the other vigilantes have called it quits for the night. Jason almost always has food, an easy thing like tacos or chili dogs, and Tim doesn’t think to question it. Sometimes he brings Tim a coffee, when he knows he’s going to be busy tomorrow.

Tim doesn’t question how Jason learns his work schedule either, doesn’t have to, when he gives the information willingly, sharing his google calendar without complaint.

Tim’s taking a classics course for his general credit at college, and the first time Jason had heard him muttering over Lord of the Flies he all but stopped his own patrol for the night to help prepare Tim for the next day’s test.

The classics course is going well, Tim’s sailing by with a 96%, but Jason doesn’t need to know that.

 _No,_ Tim reflects, watching Jason’s eyebrows furrow in emotion as he waves his hand almost aggressively enough to lose the disposable fork he’s holding over the edge of the building, _Jason doesn’t need to know, when he keeps explaining things with such passion_.

Jason’s slowing down again, and Tim lets him wind down from his rant, watching his curls ruffle in the breeze off the harbor, one strand of hair just straight and long enough to brush Jason’s nose, making it twitch and Jason scowl, nearly going cross-eyed before he just reaches a hand up to run through his hair.

Tim loves him. Loves the way he talks so animatedly about books, new and old alike. Loves the little twitch of his red-tip ears when he’s embarrassed about something. Loves the way he holds himself when he’s casually lounging on his couch. Loves how he dresses how he wants even when he comes to pick Tim up from work to whisk him away to lunch. Loves the constrained power in each limb, the control he exerts over himself.

He loves Jason, and is more than willing to learn everything that entails.

Jason’s gone quiet now, catching his breath from the last dredges of impassioned frustration over Gatsby, and he looks beautiful like this. On the edge of a building staring out at the sunrise coloring the thick Gotham air pink and highlighting the white strand of hair at his forehead.

Tim’s fingers twitch, slightly, aching to reach out and brush that strand away from no-longer-glowing eyes. All of him aching to find out if Jason runs as hot as Tim assumes, how he’d feel pressed to Tim’s side. How soft his lips are, and how his hands would be rough with callouses from his guns, how they would feel rubbing along the length of his back, arms curling around him to pull him closer.

Tim’s pulled out of his thoughts by a warmth on his gloved hand. He glances down to Jason’s hand laid over the back of his, back up to Jason’s side-profile. He’s staring resolutely out over the bay, lips upturned at the corners just slightly.

Tim turns his own palm over, lacing their fingers together and marveling at the feeling of fingers slotted between his.

Jason turns his head, ducking down just slightly, just enough.

“Is this okay?” breath ghosting across Tim’s lips.

Tim closes the distance, finds Jason’s lips warm and soft, the way he smiles into it enough to make him melt. Jason’s eyes slip closed at the first brush of Tim’s tongue over his lip, jaw parting slightly in invitation that Tim gladly takes, pressing forward intently, licking in Jason’s mouth like he’ll never get enough. He tastes like the pasta he brought, and mint gum, and _Jason_ , and Tim thinks he could easily be addicted.

“More than.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!!


End file.
